


Oodles of Love

by saruma_aki



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers Family, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Feels, Fluff, Good Peter, Happy Ending, Hurt Wade, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Wade, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Spideypool - Freeform, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Avengers Are Good Bros, but kind of dicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 02:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8560768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saruma_aki/pseuds/saruma_aki
Summary: Based on a prompt from a lovely person who commented on my other spideypool fic: 
"a story about the avengers finding out about peter and Wade? And of course they're not thrilled at first but then they see them together and realize how domestic and good for each other peter and Wade are?"





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eurydicoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eurydicoy/gifts).



> I hope I managed to get the story right and stay true to the prompt. I feel like I might have added too much angst to it, or that maybe I didn't do the interactions quite right, but I can't seem to write this any other way that I deem satisfactory.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

Peter’s arms were tight around Wade’s waist, his face buried in the man’s neck, front pressed along his back, feeling the expansion of his ribs with every breath that he took in. It was intoxicating, somehow, being able to hold the former mercenary like this, being able to feel his every breath, feel his bare skin against his own—scars and all—and knowing that he was trusted.

It was like the finest wine and the sweetest ambrosia.

“You didn’t have to stay here,” a sleep muffled voice spoke and he lifted his head, looking down with bleary eyes at the scarred man’s profile, eyes still shut, his lips just barely parted, just enough to let the words come out, his breath soft, body lax.

“I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to see your face when I woke up,” he brushed a kiss onto the man’s shoulder, pecking a few of the scars softly, “and know you were alright.”

Wade moved then, rolling over onto his back, eyes still shut. “I’m fine, Petey,” he whispered, voice breathy and soft—weak.

Peter couldn’t say he really believed him.

“What have they been saying?”

Wade’s eyes opened then, the whites of his eyes slightly red, the skin around them puffy. His face was drawn, expression one of exhaustion. “Why do you think they’re saying anything?”

“You’ve been awake for two hours and haven’t moved. My guess is that they’ve been speaking,” he murmured, keeping his tone soothing, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Wade’s temple, keeping his eyes fixed on his face, watching how the corners of his lips twitched up just slightly.

“You’re so smart, baby boy—so smart.” Wade’s voice was soft, almost reverent in his tone, his fingers coming up to run through Peter’s hair gently, so gently, like he was going to break if Wade dared to touch him even more. “You’re real, right?” Wade’s voice cracked with the utterance, bleary blue eyes welling with tears, lips trembling; his scarred face pulled into an expression of complete agony.

“I’m real,” he whispered, trying not to break into tears as well, reaching up to grasp Wade’s wrist tightly, and pressing Wade’s hand to his face. “I’m very real. I’m right here with you.”

Wade blinked, a tear slipping down his cheek.

“I’m right here with you.”

 

 

 

Some days were better than others.

 

 

 

“Petey,” Wade’s cheerful voice rang through the phone and Peter couldn’t help but grin underneath his mask, webbing his phone to his ear as he swung through the streets of New York, “what do you want for dinner?”

“Are you cooking?” he asked, flipping up to land in a crouch on a rooftop, fingertips resting lightly on the ground before him.

“Um, I think so. I mean, I’m in the kitchen staring at the walls, so I should hope that’s what I’m doing here.”

He laughed, looking out over the skyline of New York as he shifted to sit on the ledge. “What were you thinking of?”

“Well, I can make some teriyaki chicken, or there’s pasta; we have the ingredients for burgers, I can make that.”

“Oh, damn, this is hard.” Swinging his legs, he looked down as he heard a crash, watching as a man shoved a small kid against the wall, growling words Peter was too far up to hear, but he could hear the kid’s pained scream as a fist connected with his face. “Pasta—I should be home soon and I’m starving.”

“Pasta it is, _tesoro._ See you soon!”

“See you, hon’!” And he was dropping down the side of the building to stop the guy from abusing the poor kid.

 

 

 

Most days were good.

 

 

 

“What’s going on here?”

They jumped, both of them leaping away from each other, Wade automatically moving forward, a hand clutching one of his guns strapped to his thigh.

“Captain,” Peter croaked, shifting just slightly so that Wade being in front of him wasn’t so obvious. His leg was bleeding sluggishly and he had some gauze bundled against it, tape holding it down, decorated on top with one of Wade’s Hello Kitty band-aids that he always carried around—along with medical supplies.

“Someone explain to me what’s going on here,” the blonde hissed, shield strapped to his arm, his free hand curled into a fist. He looked at Wade accusingly, like he had done something wrong.

And Wade—Wade looked threatened, his muscles tense, his fingers loose on the hold of the gun, still in its holster, which Peter knew meant he was preparing for a fight.

“I forgot I didn’t tell you guys,” Peter coughed awkwardly, hobbling forward, and Wade immediately offered his arm for support which he gladly accepted. His leg would be fine by the end of the day—it wasn’t too deep of a cut—but it still hurt.

“Tell us what? That you’re apparently really cozy with a killer?” Clint griped, his finger on one of his arrows that was already notched and reading to sail.

“Well, yeah,” Peter admitted, lamely. He heard Wade snort inelegantly, felt the way his arm jolted slightly with the movement, and he couldn’t help but let out a small grin of his own. Wade’s reactions to the most serious of situations were the best and Peter loved him for it—even if the timing was sometimes inappropriate.

“How long,” Tony asked, and it was probably his easy tone that made Peter answer instead of saying a biting ‘why does it matter’ in the face of their rather blatant mistrust.

“About a year and a half,” Peter mumbled and Tony looked floored.

“You forgot to mention it for a year and a half?” Natasha asked, clearly seeking for clarification.

“In all fairness, I never hid it from you guys. It just never came up.”

 

 

 

Things weren’t very good after that.

 

 

 

First it was Natasha.

He guessed that she was first since they figured a female would make the whole thing better somehow.

It didn’t.

If anything, it made it worse.

He wasn’t particularly close with Natasha. He was closer to Tony, a fellow scientist with a personality that clicked better with him; and Bruce because he was also a scientist. Natasha, though, was someone he not only didn’t have a reason to be close to, but also unnerved him.

She could be more than one person at a time, and while that was great for her job as an agent, it wasn’t so great for personal life. Peter never knew what to expect from her, couldn’t really get a feel for her as a person when he didn’t know which one was the real her.

“Peter,” she began, sitting down next to him on the couch, her hands folded in her lap. “How did you meet Wade?”

“On patrol while he was Deadpool,” he answered, trying not to shift under her piercing gaze, the way her green eyes bored into him, searching for an answer, like he wasn’t saying the truth at that moment.

“What were the circumstances?”

He shifted, moving to stand and taking a few steps away from the couch. “Look, he came up to me asking for help on how to be a hero. I decided to help him out,” he stated. “Now, I need to go home. I promised Wade I’d help him redecorate.”

She stood and he narrowed his eyes at her, watching the way she had edged closer slightly as if to follow. It wasn’t in his nature to be distrusting, but he couldn’t bring himself to trust her—well, any of the Avengers—at the moment.

“Don’t follow me. Wade gets nervous.”

With that, he left, making sure to swing away, taking the back routes so as to avoid being seen.

 

 

 

 

Then it was Steve.

“Why him,” he asked.

The question came out of nowhere and Peter looked up sharply from where he was adjusting his web shooter on his wrist, making sure it hadn’t been broken after suffering quite the hit. He’d be able to get him and Wade home easily, though, fortunately.

“Why who,” he retorted, trying not to let his discomfort show. He knew Wade could hear them over the comm., he wasn’t sure if Steve had turned his off.

“Why Deadpool,” he reiterated and Peter barely managed to suppress a sigh. He could see Wade out of the corner of his eye stutter to a stop, a small figure in the distance.

“Because,” he muttered, already turning away when Steve caught his shoulder and he could see Wade jerk forward from where he was, his stance saying he was unsure whether to go over or not, to put a stop to the questioning or not.

“I’m just looking out for you. He’s not a good guy.”

“That’s what he keeps telling me, too, but I’ve yet to see him prove me wrong,” he hissed, jerking away before storming off.

Wade met him in the middle, mask pulled in a way that told him he was frowning. Peter had to ask one of these days how he did that. Masks weren’t meant to portray the emotions of the wearer so accurately.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, taking Wade’s hand in his own, rubbing his thumb along the knuckles.

“Are you sure?”

He smiled, giving the man’s hand a small squeeze. “Yes; now, come on. You’re making cookies, right?”

Wade did a little dance before hopping onto Peter’s back, legs locked around his waist and arms around his shoulders. “You bet ‘cha,” he cheered, pumping a fist in the air as Peter quickly took off, firing a web and swinging them away before the rest of the team could confront him.

 

 

 

 

“They don’t like me,” Wade mumbled.

A bad day, Peter noted, as he hurried over to the bed, climbing in and bodily turning Wade around, cupping his cheek and running his thumb back and forth over his cheekbone.

“Who,” he murmured, looking down at those clear blue eyes. He knew who. He knew exactly who and he hated that the words of these people could reduce such a strong man like Wade to nothing more than a hollow shell—even if it was for a minute, for an hour, for a day. Wade didn’t deserve it.

“The Avengers,” he whispered. “I mean,” he continued on, voice raising in volume for just a second before dropping, “they didn’t like me before, but now,” he trailed off, shifting on the bed in discomfort, his hand coming up to pick at his skin and Peter quickly covered the hand with his own.

“Don’t pay attention to them,” he instructed, not bothering to deny it. No matter what state of mind Wade was in, Peter refused to tell him lies or promise things he wasn’t sure of. It wouldn’t do Wade any good and it certainly wouldn’t do Peter any good either.

“They’re your friends, though,” Wade mumbled. “I want them to like me. I want to be able to hang out with you around them like we do here because,” Wade sniffled, gaze unfocused, “because at least that’s something normal that I can give you.” A lone tear slipped and Peter quickly kissed it away, gaze soft and sad. “But I can’t do that if they don’t like me,” Wade hiccupped and Peter cooed softly, wrapping the strong man up in his arms, letting him cling to him.

“You’ve already given me so much. You don’t need to worry about it, Wade. Don’t worry about it.”

 

 

 

 

Thor was next, which actually baffled Peter since he was pretty sure Thor still wasn’t quite used to Earth customs. Not to mention the guy was similar to Wade in the sense that he’d killed a lot of people—and then subsequently got praised for it, though in Wade’s case he got paid.

“It concerns me, Man of Spider—your relationship with the Pool of Dead.”

Peter refrained from hitting something, but it was a close call.

“Why?” he bit out. He tried not to let his annoyance show, but he was pretty sure he failed, if Thor’s mildly confused and hurt look was anything to go by.

“He bears resemblance to my brother—forgive me, I meant, Loki—in reference to his mind,” Thor mumbled, looking just a bit unsure of himself. Then, leaning closer as if conspiratorially, he cast a quick look about with blue eyes, saying, “I feel he has an illness of the mind.”

Peter didn’t bother answering, simply sending the blonde god a glare before storming away, a part of his brain thinking that if that was how they treated people in Asgard, no wonder Loki went off the deep end.

 

 

 

“Listen, kid, we need to talk.”

“I swear, if you’re about to tell me to break up with Wade,” Peter muttered, glaring over darkly at Tony who looked mildly affronted by that from where he was sitting on his rolling chair, brow furrowed and lips pursed.

“I can’t control what you do,” Tony said, slowly, as if he was trying to calm Peter down, and he guessed he was. His mind was tumbling through every encounter he’d had with the Avengers so far. He’d flat out run away when Clint and Bruce tried to talk to him.

Sighing, his shoulders slumped in defeat, turning away from the work he was helping Tony with to face the man, leaning back in his own chair and stretching, popping his joints. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m just,” he sighed again, scrubbing his hands over his face, inhaling Wade’s smell that clung to the sweater he had loaned Peter before he left because it was apparently a lot colder than he had thought, “I’m tired. Sorry,” he muttered, finishing weakly.

“Happens to all of us,” the engineer brushed it off, looking up at the ceiling with a contemplative frown and Peter watched him through the gaps between his fingers. “Look, how do I put this?” Tony straightened, placing his elbows on his thighs and leaning forward slightly. “You know he’s not mentally okay, right?”

Peter immediately frowned, opening his mouth to immediately argue back, but Tony raised a hand, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Yes,” he finally gritted out, his frown deepening.

“Okay,” the billionaire breathed out, rubbing his hands together as if to warm them before pressing his palms together, lips pressing against the side of his index fingers as he thought. “I’m not going to tell you to not see him, or that he’s dangerous. You’ve been together a year and a half, right? I’m sure you’ve got it under control. But,” Tony shifted now, his expression showing his mild discomfort, “as someone who has mental, uh, health issues as well, I’m letting you know that it’s going to be hard.”

“I know that.”

“Not just for you, Parker,” Tony cut in, his own brow furrowing slightly. “Anything you do against him can set him off—maybe not catastrophically in the sense that he’ll start killing people, but he can harm himself, harm people close to you in an attempt to hurt himself because seeing you hurt hurts him in turn. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Peter nodded slowly, a jerking motion.

“The guy can’t die, so physical pain works for him, but not for long, not like it would for someone normal.”

“I know,” Peter murmured and this had to be the only conversation about this that hadn’t set him off. Maybe it was because Tony had suffered similar things as Wade, or maybe he had taken the time to see it from Peter’s point of view.

“I can’t tell you to not see him—well, I can, but I won’t—but I will tell you to be careful. Hurt is a two way street. And I’m sure you know that not only can you hurt him, but he can hurt you.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Wade, I’m back,” he called as he came into the apartment, shutting and locking the door behind him.

It was silent, no response given.

The first thing that hit him was the metallic smell of iron, next to pungent aroma of chemicals—chemicals they didn’t use because they bothered Wade’s skin, caused him pain. Venturing further into the apartment, he moved quickly to their bedroom where the door was partly ajar.

There he found Wade scrubbing away with a toothbrush furiously at the wall which was covered in blood and chunks of what Peter couldn’t only assume to be brain matter and bits of skin—maybe pieces of his skull.

He wanted to puke.

“Wade?”

The man whirled around, blue eyes wide and frightened, his expression drawn tight in pain, though. “Petey,” he gasped out, voice tight and broken.

“What did you do?” he whispered, falling to his knees next to the man and pulling the toothbrush from Wade’s limp fingers, drawing the fingers of his other hand up the side of Wade’s face. “You promised you’d call me.”

“I did—I tried—I couldn’t—too loud,” Wade gasped out, is words a jumble, tears steadily leaking from his eyes. “They were too loud and I, I tried to reach for the phone, but the gun was right next to it and I just wanted them to be quiet for a moment—just for a moment. I couldn’t think—I didn’t think—I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” he crooned, tugging Wade close, letting the man pull him closer tightly, held him through the worst of the tears and the sobs. “It’s alright; it’s okay. You’re getting there. It’s progress. Next time you’ll go longer, I know you will.” He pressed a soft kiss to Wade’s forehead, massaging his fingers into the nape of his neck, carefully avoiding where he knew the man’s skull would be tender, going by the pinkish hue to the healing skin compared to the rest—though still mottled with the scars.

“It hurts, Petey, it hurts.”

He pulled back looking down at Wade, trying to see what was wrong, but then he remembered the chemicals lying near them, the way he could hear Wade’s nails tearing at his skin behind Peter’s back as if trying to claw it off.

“Hey, no, don’t do that. Come on,” he coaxed, pulling back and rising to his feet, tugging Wade to his. “We’ll sleep at the Avengers Tower tonight. We’ll clean this up tomorrow, okay?”

Wade nodded his head meekly and Peter smiled a bit, pulling the man down for a chaste kiss. “Next time you’ll reach for the phone; I know you will.”

“Peter,” Wade mumbled, sounding unsure in his own ability to overcome his depression and the voices.

“You will—I know you can, Wade.”

 

 

 

 

The tower was quiet when they got there and Peter wasted no time on getting them to his room as fast as possible and getting the chemicals off of Wade’s skin.

It was brusque work and Wade had clawed red lines into his hands the whole way there, refraining from touching any other part of his body that came in contact with the chemicals through sheer will alone—and the fact that if he did so, he’d have to let go of Peter and he couldn’t do that while they were swinging through the city.

After they had both showered, they collapsed in bed and Peter curled himself up into Wade’s side, placing his hand over the man’s heart and only letting sleep claim him once he was sure Wade was truly out.

 

 

 

 

“Do you think I can make pancakes?”

He groaned, rolling over and peeking up at Wade through squinted eyes. “What time is it?” he grumbled, burying his face in Wade’s warm chest before quickly becoming more awake because Wade sounded happy which meant that his words had gotten through to Wade—that they were making progress if he was bouncing back this fast.

“It’s seven,” Wade admitted, shifting in what Peter realized was anxiety and he quickly stroked a hand up and down Wade’s side, pressing a soft kiss to his collar bone and smiling as his kiss was returned by ten on the top of his head and his forehead.

“I’m sure you can,” Peter smiled up at him, rolling away to stretch his limbs languidly. “Come on; let’s go,” Peter urged, rolling out of the bed and moving with lethargic limbs to get dressed in his clothes. He smiled when Wade didn’t grab his mask, simply tugging on his sweatpants and large Christmas sweater.

Peter guessed the oversized nature of everything was because of how his skin probably felt today.

He loved it, though, and he loved that whenever he got sick, Wade would wrap him up in them and he’d drown in them. It’s not like he didn’t have his own fair share of muscles—being Spider-man required the body of a gymnast practically and he’d gotten a lot of muscle mass due to it—but he wasn’t as muscular as Wade. And if Wade bought his clothes larger, Peter would end up practically swimming in them.

They took the elevator down to the common floor where the kitchen was.

“JARVIS, is anyone up yet?”

“Miss Romanov and Captain Rogers have gone for a run. Everyone else is still sleeping.”

“Thanks, JARVIS,” Peter called, tugging Wade along to the kitchen while Wade was practically bouncing on his feet in excitement.

“I’ve never been here so early,” he mock whispered, laughing afterwards, bright and happy and Peter adored the sound, adored that it meant that it was a good day, that maybe they’d start to be more often again like they used to be.

“JARVIS, can you play my ‘happy’ playlist?” Peter asked and the AI responded with a kind ‘of course’ before Imagine Dragons was filling up the kitchen and Wade let out a delighted laugh, skipping to the cupboards to tug out the ingredients for his legendary pancakes.

As he mixed, Peter sat on the stool and watched as he worked, how at home he looked. He loved watching Wade cook; it was one of his favorite pastimes, as creepy as it sounded. The man just looked so at home in the kitchen, like nothing bad could ever touch him.

“’Cause I’m on top of the world, hey, I’m on top of the world, hey,” Wade spun around, tugging Peter off his stool, eliciting a laugh from him as he was twirled around and made to dance, eventually joining in of his own accord as Wade alternated between mixing ingredients and dancing along with Peter—though he was phenomenal at doing both at the same time.

Letting Wade pull him closer and move them in an exaggerated version of ballroom dancing along with the song, he couldn’t help but laugh, loving the sight of Wade’s scars twisted in the way they did when he smiled, bright and happy and unhindered, and his blue eyes sparkling.

“And I know it’s hard when you’re falling down and it’s a long way up when you hit the ground, but get up now—get up—get up now,” Peter sang, standing on his tiptoes to twirl Wade and the tall man laughed when Peter’s arm smacked his face anyway and Peter huffed, dragging the taller man down for a kiss, letting their foreheads rest together as they smiled dopily at each other, high on their shared happiness.

Neither of them was aware of their audience as they goofed off while the pancakes cooked and Wade would show off his amazing cooking skills, often exaggerating them and at a one point nearly ending up with a pancake on his face for having flipped it too high.

They had both giggled uncontrollably at that.

At one point Peter ended up crouched on Wade’s broad shoulders as he cooked, feeling the muscles shift beneath the soles of his feet, his hands resting on Wade’s head, drawing patterns on the bumpy skin. They had spent the time in silence, but when Peter glanced down, Wade was smiling softly, clearly content.

“I feel like I made too much,” Wade admitted after a bit and Peter shook his head defiantly.

“Nonsense,” he chided, but as he climbed off Wade’s shoulders and turned around to look at the table, he began to rethink his immediate denial. “They can eat it all, I’m sure.”

 

 

 

 

The Avengers strolled in one by one, their timing odd, but seemingly evenly spread out. From the look on Wade’s face, he had noticed it, too, but they both refrained from saying anything—Peter mainly doing so because Wade had just realized he didn’t have his mask on and was having a mild freak out that only Peter could read in the tightness in the corner of his eyes and the way his was digging the nail of his thumb into the metal of the fork where he was cutting up a slice of his pancake.

Placing his hand on the male’s free one gently, Peter stroked his thumb along the back of his scarred knuckles, smiling reassuringly at the ex-mercenary when he looked at him with frightened blue eyes.

“Are these for us?” Steve asked slowly, hesitatingly, eying the pair with an odd look on his face.

Wade nodded, putting on a grin after swallowing his bite on his M&M pancake—because Tony had everything in his kitchen, apparently.

Steve nodded slowly and the Avengers all sat around the table.

A silence descended upon them, awkward and stifling, as they loaded their plates.

Tony took the first bite and at the moan that left his mouth at the taste seemed the tension seemed to break as he swallowed and let out a small laugh. “You make a mean pancake, Wilson,” Tony laughed, glancing down the table at Wade and meeting his eyes—and Peter wanted to dance because Tony was looking at Wade’s eyes, not his scar covered face or his hands or his bald head.

And although Tony looked a bit tense, Peter knew he was trying, knew it was for him when Wade grinned and let out an honest ‘thank you’, ducking his head a bit and Tony met Peter’s eyes, and gave him a small, supportive smile.

“You cook like this all the time?” Bruce was the next one to join in.

Maybe it was seeing Wade’s face that made Dr. Banner look so open, the sight of someone who was considered a monster by others probably resonating with him. Regardless the reason, Peter was grateful and could feel his smile growing.

“You should have his tacos—now that’s something to die for,” Peter gushed, squeezing Wade’s hand reassuringly, looking at him with a thousand watt smile and felt like his face would split in half with how much bigger he wanted to smile when Wade returned it with a bright one of his own that showed all his teeth and twisted his scars up adorably at his cheeks and makes his eyes crinkle just slightly at the corners.

He could resist placing a soft kiss on his chin, chuckling at the way Wade tilted it down immediately, silently asking for a peck on his lips and Peter delivered immediately, not hesitating at all because Wade was happy, he was happy, and he saw no reason to hide that.

When they returned their attention to the group, Peter could feel a sort of smugness build up in him at the looks of barely disguised awe on their faces.

They’d come around. He knew they would.

Wade was easy to like, easy to love. And they cared about him, Peter knew, knew that their talks had been out of concern for him.

But they’d come around to them together—he could see the change happening.

And with time, they’d be used to it, accept it.

“A year and a half, huh,” Natasha asked conversationally, almost rhetorically, the corner of her lip twitching upwards into a faint smirk.

“Long time,” Clint added, observing them with his bright blue eyes, his gaze only broken when Thor accidentally nudged him while dragging more pancakes onto his plate for a second helping.

“Yup,” Wade confirmed, proudly, and Peter loved that he wore their love like a medal, like a prized possession of his that he refused to hide and took with him everywhere. “It’s just oodles of love from me to Petey.”

“Oodles and noodles?” Peter teased, nudging the scarred man’s shoulder with his own, catching those bright blue eyes in his own gaze.

“Oodles and noodles,” Wade confirmed.

With the weight of the stares on them, Peter couldn’t help but grin, butting their shoulders together again.

He had faith the Avengers would come around.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Feel free to find me on instagram, too, if you'd like. I post mainly fandom posts ( @saruma_aki ) .
> 
> Please don't hesitate to leave me a comment on your thoughts down below! <3


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